One Time Use Only

The idea for this came from a book I have on writing. The idea is you take some instructions off a commonly used item and you make that the title for your story. And then you write.


One Time Use Only

"One time use only," I read to myself off the back of a disposable camera. We live in a disposable society. Everything gets thrown away. Nothing is kept. This camera sits on top of a table donning a paper table cloth. I eat hors d'oeuvres off of a paper plate using a plastic fork. I dab my mouth with a paper napkin. I drink punch from a plastic cup. I can't help but wonder if the newly exchanged wedding vows are disposable too. Of course, the flowers are real but they too will become refuse once this day is done. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not supporting the use of fake flowers, rather I'm just pointing out that our lives are one disposable item after another. And don't think I am advocating change, God knows I adhere to a disposable diet as much as anyone.

I spot a tall brunette across the room. Her face is familiar, perhaps a second cousin, but why should that matter. She wore a spaghetti-strap green dress that hugged her tight around the curves. She had warm eyes and an inviting smile. I take my time because art requires patience. I try to position myself nearby, pretending to listen to some old hag go on and on about arthroscopic surgery, so I am able to overhear her order a drink.

"Cosmopolitan." she said delicately.

I mingled around, talking to this uncle or that. One wants some stock advice; I tell him I'm a doctor not a banker. Another has a question about a tight joint, "Sorry my friend. I'm a banker, not a doctor."

Timing is everything. She sips the last of her beverage. Her glance towards the bar tells me that another drink would make her current conversation more bearable. Then I show up like a knight in shining armor.

"Cosmopolitan?" I take her empty cup and replace it with the metaphorical equivalent of love potion.

"Yes, thank you." She gives me an inquisitive 'how-did-you-know' smile. "And what's that you're drinking?"

"A dirty martini." My wink causes her to giggle and blush. She’s completely flattered and caught off guard. It's a matter of minutes before we are outside in the back seat of my car.

She asks if I am coming back inside, but I'm not. She asks for my number and I pull a napkin out of my pocket. I jot down a string of numbers and I wonder whose phone it actually belongs to. A few years ago I would have felt bad about this sort of thing, but a person can become desensitized to anything if they try hard enough. I'm sure she'll feel sorry for herself in a few days. She'll probably feel like a piece of trash tossed aside, or a cigarette butt thrown out the car window. But she'll get over it. She may be more guarded around men as a result, but that doesn't concern me. She's just another 'one-time-use' girlfriend for me.

Since I'm already dressed up, and the night is still young, I decide to head to McFadden's Pub. I always have a billiard table there on reserve and it’s a nice place to unwind. The waitress flirted as she brought me a drink, but I'm not interested. My focus now is on the table. Billiards is, one of many talents that I pride myself on. My concentration is intruded upon by a tall, curvy blond. Waves of blond hair flowed over her shoulders and framed her face, which was highlighted by bright red lips. She wore a black halter-top dress with a built-in push-up bra. The bra had a big job to do. The dress stopped mid thigh, and her legs seemed to run on indefinitely. Our eyes meet, and in a moment I was seduced.

If I had tried to play my usual games I would have failed. I was too taken aback and keeping my focus would have proved impossible. But to my surprise she pursued me. Before I could offer to buy her a drink, she was there at my table, two martinis in hand. She had no intention of obscuring her motives. And within an hour she had me back at her place.

Once in her apartment, she offered to fix us both a drink. I was already pretty intoxicated, but I'm not one to turn down a beautiful woman. We sat on the couch for a few minutes, she asked what kind of work I was in. "Real estate," I told her. She seemed uninterested. She quickly finished her drink and motioned with her eyes that I should do the same. She took my hand and led me to the bedroom. My vision blurred a little as I got up. I stumbled behind her slightly. "What was in that last drink?" I said with a smile.

Handcuffs closed tightly around my wrist. "This girl is kinky, I like that." I said to myself. Then I was flipped over onto my stomach and my other wrist cuffed. I noticed it was morning already but it wasn't until I was thrown on the floor that I realized what was happening. Two gorilla-sized cops were wrestling me around. They had me handcuffed and pressed hard against the floor. I thought they were about to search me, then I realized I wasn't wearing any clothes. They picked me up and began to drag me out.

"Fucking pervert." Said gorilla-cop number one.

"Wait, let me at least put some clothes on first."

"What clothes? You don't have any, you fucking crack head." Said gorilla-cop number two as they dragged me past a sobbing elderly woman and out of the apartment.

It's possible I may have been drunk enough, that I wouldn't have noticed when she picked the lock to the apartment. And it's possible that I may have been horny enough not to notice that she slipped something into my drink. And so it's definitely possible I could have passed out while she took off with my clothes, my car, and my wallet full of cash. And it's also possible that I may have said "This girl is kinky," out loud when the gorilla-police brigade was cuffing me. But there’s no way I ever used a girl the way I got used by her.

Danny Downer

Now imagine a male version of Debbie Downer and then put him on your work team on mission trip. That's what I had. There were a number of instances were he would walk into a conversation and then say something to completely bring it down, but one in particular comes to mind. A group us of were sitting taking a break from the work and because the neighbor had a dog and two cats we got on the subject of pets. Each person was sharing stories of their pets and the cute things they do or the neat tricks they've taught them. I even got in on it, mentioning Mike the Cat's crooked tail. And then Danny Downer says in his nasally monotone voice, "Yeah, my dog is having surgery today. He has colon cancer. He's only six years old."

Complete silence...

How to Hijack a Worship Service

This is the third straight mission trip where worship was really lacking and needed to be fixed. And I have no problem hijacking a worship if needed. Going into the trip I was a little concerned because I was pretty certain that no one who was coming on the trip would be capable of leading worship. But I wasn't too worried because I was pretty sure that our host church had a praise band and it seemed reasonable that, on at least one or two nights, it could be arranged to have them play. My worst fears were confirmed on Sunday night worship when the CD started up and we began singing to a live version of a David Crowder song. Nothing against Crowder or his live versions, but "canned music" no way to conduct a worship. Not only was the lack of live music hindering the worship experience but the mood was completely wrong as well. Each night the atmosphere in the sanctuary was one of hyperness and mild chaos. Part of this was the fact that the kids came straight from their evening activity to worship, but a larger part was there was nothing being done to "create a mood". Through the first three nights of the trip, worship severely lacked any spiritual impact.

I mentioned to the program coordinator at the beginning of the week that I was willing to speak one night at worship if needed. She jumped at the chance as if having other people speak hadn't yet crossed her mind, and asked I would speak on Wednesday night. After worship on Monday[1], the center director and I had a discussion about how the trip was going so far and among my list of complaints/suggestions was worship. She agreed that worship was bad and needed a lot to turn it around. After yet another disappointing worship on Tuesday, she pulled me aside and asked what I could do to "save" worship. I was already on the case because I refuse to attach myself to something that is half-assed. If I'm going to speak on Wednesday night, I'm going to make sure the whole thing is good.

We needed a band. There was no way around it. I could dim the lights, add candles, speak softer, but nothing would be enough if I couldn't get a band. Getting someone to play would normally be an easy task. I know plenty of people who can play and could lead worship, the problem was every single one of them was on mission trip already. I did no one other guy. I wasn't sure how good he was since he primarily plays base, but I knew that he knew the songs. I made the call. I explained the situation to Nick, offered to buy him a tank of gas, and without a second thought Nick agreed to play. Not only that but he decided it was best to bring along his friend Barry to handle the guitar. They arrived in Canton about 8:30pm and things were underway. I tried to keep the program director in the loop at first, but as it got closer to show time I gradually made more and more executive decisions and changes without worrying about informing her.

As the kids entered the sanctuary Wednesday evening to the sound of Nick's soft piano playing[2] and lighting so dim you could barely see to write, there was an adult stationed at the door informing them to just sit on the floor between the first pew and the alter and to maintain an attitude of worship. Kids quietly filed in and all easy fit in the limited floor space. For the first time that week, no one spoke above a whisper and no one needed to be remained to take of their hat. They all sat quietly filling out their journals. Once it was time, Nick stopped playing the piano and him and Barry took their seats directly in front of the kids. We did two songs and then broke them off into "team time" to allow a debriefing of the week thus far. Team time turned fairly emotional for several which may be a direct result of the mood already created. After team time, two youth wanted to say a brief something about their client and offer up a prayer. Nick and Barry played one more song before Leslie read scripture and I gave the message.

The setting was very, very casual and intimate. This must have played on me as well because my message came off in a very causal, conversational way. I usually strive to deliver in a conversational way, but this was far more casual than I had ever been before. I was actually pretty under-prepared to speak because I was more focused on the other details of worship. But I ended up giving one of my longer sermons and I never felt like I began to ramble or repeat myself. It was very fluid and natural and I'm still a little amazed at how the whole night came out.

For me, worship that night was the most meaningful part of the trip. We needed a turn around and we needed it then. I certainly couldn't have engineered such a 360 on my own and I feel like God must have dabbled a little bit to help us out. It was amazing to watch things come together the way they did in such a short time frame. And of course a special thanks must go out to Nick and Barry who did us a huge favor[3].


1. It should be pointed out that the poor worship was of no fault of the speakers. It was the music and atmosphere that was the problem.
2. Which was pure improv. We made the decision to do this about two minutes before show time. Nick is pretty bad ass on the piano.
3. Barry got off work at 6:00pm and Nick had to go into work at 6:30am. Saginaw is about two hours from Canton. They willing sacrificed a good amount of sleep just to do me a solid.

Ooo that smell, don't cha smell that smell?

The trailers we load at FedEx can get pretty hot. In the heat of the day, in direct sunlight a closed trailer with no air circulation can get up to 150 degrees. Now imagine if, lets say a rat managed to get in to one of those trailers before it closed and died. And let’s say that trailer sat for three days over the weekend with the dead rat marinating in the hot, uncirculated summer air. And let’s say you were the one who open that trailer Tuesday morning at the Fort Worth hub. Can you imagine what that would smell like? Well I don't have to imagine.

I wasn't the one who opened the trailer but my area is close enough to the unload for the smell to easily and quickly drift over. I've never smelled anything like that. I can't really think of an adjective that adequately describes that scent. I feel most sorry for the guy who had to unload it (the packages still have to get delivered). But the odd thing was, when the trailer was finished unloading, no animal was to be found. We expect to find something, a rat or a squirrel... but there was nothing. But as the smell reached to the far corners of the building we began to become suspicious. One manager after another got on the radio to complain about the foul odors infiltrating their senses. As it turns out, a rat must have managed to get in to the trailer and made its way through the cardboard into a case of chocolate. It then must have proceeded to eat it's self to death (if it's bad for dogs then it stands to reason it would be harmful to rats as well). But then, since the rat was in a box and obscured from normal view, the package got unloaded and put into the system. The intricate system of conveyor belts transported the rat across the building and back again, launching an aromatic onslaught in every work area in its path. The animal was finally located and disposed of but not before every one's lungs had been contaminated by the pure stench of death.

The Obaminator

I had trouble deciding on a title for this post, I almost went with "Once You Go Barack You Never Go Back."

It looks like Barack Obama as pretty much sealed up the nomination and I am pretty excited about it. Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not actually giving away my political ideology[1], but rather I am excited about what this means for the civil rights movement. These primaries saw three first, first time a black and a woman have had a legitimate chance at the presidency and the oldest presidential nominee ever in McCain. But most exciting is Barack and the potential he brings. Barack resembles a third party candidate in many ways. Such as the way he is bringing some previously lower-key issues to the fore front, which is the only meaning purpose a third party has in our election system. However, the difference is Barack has a very real chance of winning the presidency. It will be very interesting to see the way this plays out and this election will no doubt result voting numbers like this country hasn't seen in many, many years[2]. I'm also interested to see who Obama gets as his VP candidate. I don't think it will be Hilary. I think John Edwards would be a good choice however.

I think I may start paying more attention now and write a political post on a semi-regular basis[3].




1. Flaming liberal
2. My mom is even going to vote and this will be the first time she's voted for president.
3. Honestly I wrote this post just so I could use the line, "Once You Go Barack You Never Go Back." I think that would make a fun t-shirt or bumper sticker logo. Or maybe a button!

Something to Lighten the Mood

Sad Day

Don't read this post. There's no jokes and nothing here is going to brighten your day, so just skip it all together.

About a year ago we noticed a small lump at the base of my dogs jaw bone, underneath his ear. The lump was gradually getting bigger. Finally we took Buddy in to see out family vet, Gordon[1]. Gordon ran some test, sent some stuff off to the lab and confirmed that it was in fact cancer. We scheduled a surgery to try and have the lump removed. We knew going in that there was no guarantee he could get all of the cancer, and likewise he wasn't sure how far it had spread into the rest of his body. Despite the racquetball sized lump on the side of his head, Buddy never showed any ill-effects. He seemed completely normal and healthy. This fact gave us hope that the cancer hadn't really spared and the surgery would be a success.

The surgery went fine but for a couple of weeks Buddy was a mess. He had stitches and this tube running through the womb to drain blood and puss and he had to wear one of those collars, not to mention he was in quite a bit of pain. He was completely miserable, where as before the surgery he felt fine. But once he healed up, everything was fine.

But then a couple of months ago we found the lump again. It was starting to grow back. About 1 month ago we noticed Buddy was starting to slow down some. He was getting tired easier and had trouble jumping on the furniture. A couple of weeks ago he began to emit a soft whimper as if he was really uncomfortable all the time. About 1 week ago we started Buddy on some pain pills and just like that we had our dog back. He was running and jumping and chasing squires. But about Friday we noticed the pain pills having a lessened effect and his back legs were starting to become difficult to use. By Sunday his rear legs were completely useless. He would scuttle around using his front paws only and his back hips would shift rapidly from side to side. He looked like a screwed up penguin[2]. We also haven't been able to get him to eat anything aside from some bacon[3] yesterday morning.

We talked and decided that we need to go ahead and have him put down today. When I woke up this morning he tried to scuttle to me but only made it a few feet before he gave up and waited for me to come to him. I sat down on the floor and petted him for a few minutes. I looked into his eyes and wondered if he knows anything is up. I wonder what he has thought was happening to him through all of this. I wonder how Mike the Cat is going to get lonely now. I'm sure my mom will be more lonely with only the cat around to cuddle with[4].

We tried to feed him but we haven't been able to get him to eat anything the last couple of days but some bacon[4]. We've also gradually tripled his dosage on pain pills but a whimper still persist. We are getting ready to leave in a few minutes to take Buddy in. We're all a little sad; Buddy was a really good dog... but now he just smells.

1. We have a family vet but not a family doctor. Shows you where are priorities are.

2. This would have been hilarious to watch if it wasn't so sad.

3. Mike may be my favorite pet ever, but he can really be a butthole sometimes. I think he does stuff just to see if he can get a reaction.

4. He's dying, he's not stupid.